


Please, Don't Call Him Baby

by The_lazy_eye



Series: Be Still, Young Heart [2]
Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blend of AWAE and AOGG, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Pining, Post Season 3, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23566669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_lazy_eye/pseuds/The_lazy_eye
Summary: It seems we are all growing up, Gilbert. It’s strange, is it not? I never imagined being so bold as to court someone as beautiful as Ruby, but then again everyone seems to be catching the lovebug. Even Anne has acquired a new beau. He goes by the name Royal Gardner.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Royal "Roy" Gardner/Anne Shirley, Ruby Gillis/Moody Spurgeon MacPherson
Series: Be Still, Young Heart [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696243
Comments: 33
Kudos: 129





	Please, Don't Call Him Baby

It’s a familiar scene. Another boy. Another ring. And those blasted words.

“Anne Shirley Cuthbert.”

It’s everything she could ever want.

“These past two years with you have been unending bliss.”

It’s her childhood fantasy, come to life in front of her very own eyes.

“I want to live every day with you by my side.”

Everything about him is perfect, from the coif of his hair to the polish on his shoes. Dressed to impress with silky smooth voice, uttering those words that should bring her the bliss of a romantic climax. Every story she’s ever written mirrors this very moment, this new reality.

A dream come true.

“Will you marry me?”

\--------

The murmurs are hard to ignore.

He pretends he can’t hear them but they’re blisteringly loud. Little voices in the crowds, whispers on the train.

Anne has taken another lover, they are due to be engaged any day now.

He had first learned of it in a letter from Moody. It was, at first, a seemingly innocent correspondence to update him on the daily life of their little island. It was filled with exciting updates, both about the boy himself and the people he had spent nearly his whole life with. Moody was engaged to Ruby, the wedding was soon and, _oh, Gilbert, if you could find the time out of your busy schedule to attend we would both be elated._

Moody’s letter continued beyond that. School was going well, occupations were being sorted out. Those who were unsure became sure, those who were sure became skilled. Moody himself was going on to become a minister and would soon share his home with a wonderful, bright teacher.

And then, at the very end, the news that shook him to his very soul.

_It seems we are all growing up, Gilbert. It’s strange, is it not? I never imagined being so bold as to court someone as beautiful as Ruby, but then again everyone seems to be catching the lovebug. Even Anne has acquired a new beau. He goes by the name Royal Gardner._

He could not fault Moody. How was he to know the state of despair he put Gilbert in?

He hardly believed the news – not after what happened. Sure, a few years have since passed but had that much really changed? The girl – no, not girl anymore, _woman_ – who had railed against the mere idea of marriage is now courting another? Soon, he’d put upon her the same expectation Gilbert once had. Soon, it would end in the same fiery blaze.

_Unless._

God, unless she’s changed her mind entirely. Anne was never one to be swayed, Lord knows he tried. He tried with every fiber of his being, standing outside the Cuthbert property until Matthew placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and asked him to be on his way. He’d sent flowers as an apology, a plea to return to how they’d been. He’d be happy with their life before courting. Couldn’t they please go back? Couldn’t they pretend?

In the end it was too painful. She’d forgiven him, had even apologized, but he hadn’t forgiven himself.

Maybe it was never marriage that disgusted her. Maybe it was him. Maybe the simple idea of spending her life with Gilbert was enough to curdle her stomach in disgust.

When he hears the whispers, parts of him regret his decision to return to Charlestown.

_“That Cuthbert girl will be engaged by the end of springtime! Why, Matthew and Marilla must be so proud.”_

It would happen any day, now.

Royal Gardner, with his status and wealth, his cutting good looks. He can give Anne everything she’s ever dreamt of. Everything she truly deserves. A sea of beautiful dresses and fine goods, a proper life outside of Prince Edward Island. He can whisk Anne away to Europe and expose her to new worlds – the kinds Anne wished for as a child. And she deserves it. She deserves every wonderful thing Royal has to give her.

All the things Gilbert would never have been able to.

As a doctor, he would spend years apart from her finishing his studies. Then, he’d had to split his time has he tended to patients. His schedule would be erratic, leaving in the middle of the night to handle emergencies and staying away for extended periods of time for complicated cases. Royal can give her his undivided attention. She would never have to wait or beg or cry. She would never be lonely, not for a moment.

Maybe this is how it’s all meant to be.

It’s hard to hate a man who possesses the same folly as himself, but it’s even harder to be happy for them.

How is he supposed to handle the inevitable invitation his family will receive? She’s still so close with Bash, acting as an Aunt for Delphine. Of course, they’ll be invited. The Cuthberts and the Blythes are two interwoven families and one small fissure could never severe that bond.

He’s spent so long with a shaky needle in his hand, trying so desperately to stitch himself closed. This will cost him nearly everything.

But he’ll go. Yes, he’ll attend his beloved’s wedding. He’ll watch from the pews as she promises her life – the life they could have shared together – to another man. A true and tragical romance.

No matter how much distance they put between themselves, they cannot escape each other. He sees her in the crowds, in his classrooms. Apparitions of her appear in his kitchen; they place her at the stove cooking for distant memories of loved ones now passed. Her laughter echoes in his ears as though she were beside him. Time refuses to stand still, yet he’s rooted so firmly in the past.

He sucks a harsh breath in, careful not to startle anyone walking beside him. It’s a clear day, sun shining without a care in the world. It’s the kind of day she loves, with flowers blooming in every garden and a soft breeze carrying the aroma of fresh baked goods through the streets. His arm feels feather light without her weight pressed against him. A simple memory that refuses to fade.

When Matthew had passed, a year after their demise but equal time before her courtship with Mr. Gardner, was the last time they’d been close.

_They stand, umbrellas knocking together under the steady rain fall. A minister reads out passages from the Bible, ones Anne and Marilla had believed fit Matthew best. His voice is strong and steady in the wavering light._

_The fresh soil runs with tears from God Himself, mourning the life of Avonlea’s best._

_After, she stays long after the crowd makes their way into the dry warmth of Green Gables. At first, a group of them stayed. Marilla steadfast beside Anne, silent but strong. Diana huddled against Anne’s side, gripping her hand and sniffing her own grief back. Rachel herself had gone in to tend to the guests, and after a little while Marilla followed._

_“I mustn’t keep them waiting,” She had said. “Stay as long as you need to my dears.”_

_Then, she had placed a kiss in Anne’s forehead, lingering and powerful as she tried to pour every drop of love she could into her daughter._

_It left the three of them where they stand now._

_Time passes immeasurably and his eyes never leave the stone. He prays. He asks God for forgiveness, asks Him to keep Matthew’s soul at peace and help the remaining Cuthbert’s find joy in the eye of the storm._

_He asks Matthew for forgiveness, hoping against all hope that his words were heard by his intended target. Forgiveness for not being there in Matthew’s final days; forgiveness for the pain he caused Anne; forgiveness for the emotions he still harbored._

_He maybe prays for Anne, too, asking that she find meaning and peace in this dreadful time. Grief knows no bounds. The loss of a father is like losing a limb, the phantom pains never cease. She’s stronger than him, that’s a fact, but he’s all too familiar with this. It is easy to become consumed in moments like this._

_After all, he’s the last._

_The only._

_The end of a long family tree._

_“Anne,” Diana whispers. It’s quiet and Gilbert is obviously not meant to hear, but the entire world is silent around them. He could have heard a pin drop from the other side of the farm. Diana is too close to drown her own voice. The only barrier between them is Anne herself._

_She doesn’t answer and so Diana repeats herself. This time, she shivers through the word; the cold rain finally becoming unbearable for her._

_“You go,” Anne says. Her voice is a mix between sickly sweet and empty. It’s like someone put a mask over the Anne they’ve known for so long. Those who don’t know her might mistake her tone for genuine, and perhaps parts of it are, but Diana and Gilbert both know the truth._

_“Do you want to come?”_

_It’s at that moment Gilbert sneaks a glance over. Anne shakes her head silently and for a second, something vulnerable and raw passes over her face. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared leaving being a vacant expression. “No, I’m quite content here.”_

_Diana’s worried glance meets his._

_“Won’t you walk with me at the very least?”_

_She’s trying to goad Anne into coming back to the house. Maybe if she can get Anne as close as the porch, she’ll be able to persuade her to come inside._

_“Oh, Diana,” Anne sighs, seeming to snap out of her thoughts. She looks at Diana with wide, pleading eyes. “I’m so sorry.”_

_Gilbert sucks in a breath and holds it, waiting for Anne to keep going._

_“I forgot we’ve been sharing an umbrella. Here, take mine. You’ll ruin your beautiful dress without it.”_

_Before Diana can protest, Anne pushes the handle into her hands and gives her a quick smile. Then, she’s staring back down at the stone, eyes returning to that faraway look._

_“Anne, I couldn’t possibly –”_

_“Here, take mine.”_

_“Gilbert,” Diana starts, “You’ll catch your death.”_

_“I insist. Both your dresses are too beautiful to ruin and my coat is much thicker. Plus, my hat will keep my head dry.”_

_Diana’s mouth snaps shut. She looks nearly indignant at the suggestion, but doesn’t fight when he pushes his umbrella into her hands. She awkwardly holds both rods, trying to balance the way the canopies numb against each other._

_With little choice, she hands Anne’s back and begins fretting. “Please come inside soon. I’ll have fresh tea waiting for you. We don’t even have to stay downstairs if you don’t want. We can simply sit in the privacy of your room. Whatever you want. Just… please.”_

_Again, he doesn’t mean to listen, but it happens. A fantastic jab of jealousy pricks in his heart at Diana’s suggestion. He so desperately wants to be the one to whisk her away from this agony but that is not his role. He has no role anymore._

_Eventually, Diana takes her leave. And then it’s just the two of them and a freshly plotted grave._

_It’s selfish to think of himself in a time like this, but he can’t help the way his mind wanders back to familiar memories. History repeats itself in the most sorrowful ways. His father, Mary, and now Matthew; and each time it’s him and her left standing over the tomb._

_The rain has lessened to a gentle misting now. It gathers in small beads on the fabric of his jacket, slowly sinking in but never enough to completely penetrate. He’ll be kept warm for a while – long enough to finish his prayers and return inside. Hopefully, long enough for Anne to join, if not with him then with her family._

_He becomes so lost in his thoughts that he hardly notices how the rain stops hitting his nose. Soon, the only drips he feels comes from the water falling away from his damp ends of his curls. They splash on his shoulder and soak deeper into his coat._

_The lack of rain isn’t what makes him look up, it’s the circular shadow that covers his own. When he looks up, Anne has stepped closer to him and raised her umbrella over his head, sharing the space._

_“He was alive only a few days ago. How can we talk to a person one moment and bury them the next?” She doesn’t look at him as she speaks. Her eyes are glued to her late father’s final resting place._

_“I wish I knew, Anne-girl,” He says. The old nickname slips out and he’s thankful that she doesn’t react poorly. Now is not the time to spill heartbreak over an open wound._

_“At night I hear his voice calling out to me. It comes from the window. I’m so sure it’s him but when I look he’s not there.”_

_Tears fall in heavy paths down her face and he wants so badly to gather her up in his arms and shelter her from this. He doesn’t. He can’t. She’s not his to do so with._

_“I have to close the window, lest he keep calling. I can’t sleep knowing he’s out there. Oh, how I wish to talk to him one last time, tell him I love him so.”_

_“He knows,” Gilbert says. His voice cracks on the second word and he steels himself, steadying his breath and voice so he can keep going. “Your love for him was the most sure and true thing in the world.”_

_She sniffs quietly and nods._

_“If he’s calling out for you, answer him,” Gilbert keeps going, desperate to sooth her ache. “Whisper into the nighttime air. Tell him everything you wish to say. He can hear you, for he’s among the stars.”_

_She turns to him and he meets her gaze. Her eyes are bright and red-rimmed, it breaks his heart into a thousand tiny shards. His Anne, so strong and beautiful. She should never have to feel emotions such as this. There should never be a day where she cries tears of pain. Only happiness for his Anne, only joy._

_When she pushes herself into his arms, he does not reject her. He wraps her up so fully in his embrace, steadying her shaking form and letting her tears mix with the rain._

A violent cough rattles in his chest, pulling him from the memory. He is not in the muddy fields of Green Gables. He’s standing on a corner, waiting to cross the road so he can make it to his intended destination.

It’s bittersweet to look back on. In some ways, it gave him hope. He hated that it took such great tragedy for them to reconnect, but it showed him that they were capable of moving on. At least, in some ways.

He tried not to think too deep into it. Especially after Moody’s letter, but lately he feels like it’s all he can think about. Her, wrapped in his arms under a murky sky while she shivered and sobbed.

Her, wrapped in _his_ arms under the beautiful walkways of Redmond’s campus, laughing like the beautiful protagonist in one of her beloved romance novels.

It’s a hard pill to swallow, but life moves on.

More than once, he was overcome with the powerful urge to write her. He’s not sure what he’d say except that he still loves her. He’ll always love her. Sometimes, he wants to extend his deepest congratulations. He knows she’s happy – she’s at her _best_ right now and only getting better. She’s soaring above the sky and plucking stars off of clouds, accomplishing dream after dream. There’s nothing he wants more than to share in that with her, even as just a friend. He wants her to know she still has that in him.

Sometimes he wants to beg. This is all one terrible mistake and please, _please_ , take him back. Let him prove his worth. Royal is nothing but a fictional prince, a mask on a man that she cannot see through. It isn’t fair that someone who should know her for so short a time could earn his place in Anne’s heart when Gilbert has spent years toiling. It’s a bitter feeling to know he lost her to someone so novel, but what would a letter like this make him?

Nothing but a fool. An arrogant, selfish fool.

Lord, for all that he’s done he could never forgive himself if he truly forsook her happiness. Yet, as he continues his trek down these familiar streets the thoughts continue. Her voice haunts him in the daylight and he hears the way she calls her lover _dearest_ and _angel_. Terms that were previously reserved for him. He remembers how she would whisper them into his ear, giggling at something one of them said. Or how she would call out to him, demanding his full attention. Those words were so private, so holy in nature. Has she recycled them? Does Royal know that the names she whispers in his ear once belonged to another?

He can feel a headache creeping in at the mere thought of it.

He attempts to block it out as he arrives at the church. He can do this. This is not the time to be selfish. It is time to celebrate love – true love, _real_ love.

The ceremony itself is beautiful. Gilbert isn’t sure if he’s ever seen Moody cry but there’s a healthy trail of tears spilling down his cheeks as his betrothed steps down the aisle. She is a sight to behold, her white dress complimenting the gold shine in her hair. She came to stand almost a full head shorter than Moody, something Gilbert would have found amusing in his younger years but now smiles fondly at. 

Even he can’t help the mist that clouds his vision during the vows and subsequent first kiss. It’s all stunning in its own, unique way. It’s far from his first wedding, but there’s something nostalgic at watching two old chums wed. As he watches them dance, he swears he can see visions of their younger selves laughing in the schoolhouse adorning their childlike clothing and attitudes. Oh, how she had fawned over him in their final year.

He sees them all in their youth. Laughing in the schoolyard, focusing at their desks, running and playing while the sun hung heavy in the sky.

And as the Dashing White Sergeant plays out in the dance hall, he sees two juvenile, twin cherry braids spinning in time with the pluck of the strings.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Comes from his left, pulling him from his memories and placing him beside one Diana Barry. “Moody wanted nothing but the best for his dearest. His family pulled out all the stops. Every flower arrangement, every bite of food, all of it was handpicked by Ruby herself.”

“Well,” Gilbert hums, “She has quite impeccable taste.”

“Indeed,” Is all Diana says. Her own beau, Fred Wright, is wandering somewhere around the hall and Gilbert finds himself wondering where. It’s not that he minds being in Diana’s company. It’s just strange, is all. He can’t look at Diana without thinking about Anne and when he thinks about Anne his eyes begin picking the crowd apart, as if of their own volition. And when he finds her, because he always does, his body churns and breaks at the sight of her dancing with another.

Royal is significantly more handsome than he anticipated. As the subject of Anne’s desires, Gilbert knew he would be attractive but he hadn’t been prepared for the square of his chest or the build of his shoulders. He’s tall, his hair a sweeping dark wave and his eyes burning. He is the hero in every book they read in their youth. He is the ideal – something Gilbert could never contest with.

He burns to the touch just thinking about it, skin growing hot under the collar and sweat beading on his forehead. Little waves of nausea have been rolling over him since his arrival in Charlottetown. At times, his entire body felt riddled with discomfort in ways he could only attribute to being back here and facing the life he’d been denied.

It’s unfair to think such things on such a beautiful day, so he tries to push everything down and away. Ignorance is bliss, they say, and while he knows it will not fix his ailments it will surely make this moment more tolerable.

“Gilbert?” Diana asks, and it’s only then that he realizes she’d been talking to him. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, Diana.”

“Your face looks quite pale, are you in need of anything? Water? Air?” She’s fully facing him, brows knit in concern. Over her shoulder, he watches as Anne and Royal cease their dancing and begin whispering in hushed voices. Diana follows his gaze and finds the young couple just as Royal turns away walks. Anne follows after a short moment. He can’t watch anymore, so he doesn’t. Diana deserves his full attention.

“I’m alright,” He says, tone clipped in a way that signals finality. She shouldn’t fret over him.

She means well, but this conversation will do nothing to help. He doesn’t need to talk, he’s done enough of that. What he needs is for things to remain calm. It’s difficult to focus when she’s so close to him. Even across an entire dance hall, she’s still _so close_. It’s been so long since they were in any proximity to each other that he forgot how intoxicating she could be. She makes all the noise blur until it’s nothing but a loud din in his ears. All consuming and fiery until he’s left feeling exhausted from not only the day’s activities, but everything in general. 

Yes, of course he knew this would be difficult, but seeing her now in the arms of another has proven to take its toll in ways he didn’t expect.

Fred arrives not a moment later with refreshments for Diana. “Gilbert,” He greets, seemingly unaware of the tension, “Had I known you were over here I would have grabbed you a drink. How are you?”

He claps Gilbert on the shoulder in what’s meant to be friendly, but sends him stumbling forward. The world spins on its axis.

“Fred,” Diana warns but her love, in all of his well-meaning intentions, plows on.

“Say, are you alright? You aren’t looking so good.” He keeps his hand clasped firmly on Gilbert’s shoulders and the touch burns a deep ache into his bones.

Something is wrong. The faces in the crowd begin to blur and the reception hall suddenly feels far too hot to breathe. Everything he’s been ignoring, every ache and pain in his body catches up with him with the force of a moving train.

Diana’s shriek of terror pierces through his skull, drilling into his brain and causing him to lose his balance entirely. Fred is beside him in an instant and he sees Diana’s face, the terror stricken in her eyes. What could possibly have her in such a state of fright?

Fred pulls his kerchief out of his pocket and presses it to the skin of Gilbert’s upper lip. When he withdraws it, the white is stained deep red.

Faintly, he’s aware of what it could mean but he’s suddenly so drained he can’t even lift his head.

_“– someone get water, quick –”_

_“– bert? What’s going –”_

_“– space! Please! Back –”_

_“– to be alright? Heavens, plea –”_

Sounds fade in and out as his eyes become heavy, the lights becoming too bright for him to withstand. Voices both familiar and new dance along the edge of his consciousness until he slips into nothing but black.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a series now! I debated on posting this for a long time. I had most of it written out and abandoned it for a while, then came back to it, then abandoned it again. I knew that if I finished and posted this I would be locking myself in to post a third part. Where the first story had a complete ending and did not need a continuation, I feel as though this second part demands more. This could never be a two part series, it was always ever going to be one or three. And here we are, I guess. I’m still not sure if I’m happy with it. I know sometimes stories can be absolutely destroyed by posting a continuation, so I’m very interested to hear thoughts. Please be honest, if this doesn’t work or feels unnecessary or straight up bad, tell me and I’ll take it down. I can always work it into a completely different story and post it again as something new. 
> 
> Also, please ignore the historical inaccuracy of the wedding reception, I did my best. History was my worst subject in school lmao. 
> 
> And finally, I would like to publicly apologize to Ruby and Moody for ruining their wedding. If it isn’t completely clear by what I described, Gilbert has officially come down with typhoid fever. He is in the early stages of the disease, which is categorized by headaches, fever, coughing, fatigue, and a bloody nose. In this story, he has chalked all of it up to his emotional state over seeing Anne again. Headache? Sure. Fever? Just a little hot under the collar. Fatigue? Emotional exhaustion. To him, it makes sense. He’s been working himself into an early grave for the better part of a few years and hasn’t been taking care of himself. OF COURSE he’s sick as shit and doesn’t realize it. He doesn’t care enough about himself - he’s so damn consumed by his grief and pain. 
> 
> This is not beta’d so any and all mistakes belong to me. If you see anything, please feel free to reach out. You can drop a comment or find me at @thelazyeye.tumblr.com. And, honestly, if you have constructive criticism I’d love it. Was there too much pining? Too much focus on the past? Too much of anything? Was there something you wanted to see that may had aided the story? We’re there things you enjoyed? I’m always looking for growth.


End file.
